Helen Through the Looking Glass and the Prophecy of the Imposter
by x Cliched Oxymoron x
Summary: Reposting of the original story by Our-Madness-Hides-Within. Three years after the events of ATTLG, Underland is in chaos after the abductions of thirteen people. As such, Absolem is sent forth to retrieve their Champion, who is their last hope. The problem? Alice is at sea, so Helen Kingsleigh is accidentally taken into Underland - tasked with fulfilling the cryptic Prophecy.
1. The Oraculum's Prophecy

**Disclaimer:** Almost all of the characters appearing in this story and the setting of Underland do not belong to me. They are the intellectual property of Linda Woolverton, Tim Burton, Lewis Carroll, and all other parties associated with _Alice in Wonderland_ and _Alice Through the Looking Glass_. This is the exception for OCs (that shall be revealed later) who belong solely to me and _Our-Madness-Hides-Within._ I gain no monetary profit from this story, which was written purely for entertainment purposes.

 **Author's Notes:** Hi, dear reader. I am _x Cliched Oxymoron x_ and a friend of _Our-Madness-Hides-Within_ (the original owner of this story). For several reasons she was forced to close down her account, but she did not want to orphan this story so she asked me to post it in my account for her and continue it - which is what I am going to do. This is how it will work: for the first seven chapters, already written by the original author, I shall post them with about a week's time in between. Then, from Chapter 8 forward, the uploads will slow due to the fact I need to write them and my busy schedule. I will try my best to upload quickly, but no promises.

Before we proceed, however, I have decided to upload the fabled Prophecy of the Imposter (that is the center of the story) first. Sometime within the week of May 8th and May 14th I'll upload the first and revised version of chapter one: _The Ascot Manor and its Dreaded Party._ Please feel free to post your thoughts and theories about the Prophecy in the form of reviews!

* * *

Thirteen Flowers shall be picked from a Garden,

One more Rose yanked selfishly in the dark,

And they shall be the tool of the clever Imposter

To slowly settle her reign of fear upon the land.

A tempting Savior's glory draws near and shines bright

Although the Seer warns it isn't yet her time.

Still the Man born from cinders and the Wise One shall summon

She who by magic is two Minds bound in one.

Dangers shall be faced by the Woman and Man

Placed to toy with their perceptions and health,

As both seek to find the stolen collection

Chained with the Monsters of No Man's Land.

Third parties shall meddle their way into the game

Alliances forged to both slow and aid.

Yet Myosotis shall enter because of the Woman's Plague

Something taken from one and given to the other.

Nothing shall ever be as it seems during the travels,

And fate shall be bended by whom is given a chance.

Fallen Soldiers shall rise and broken Promises be mended

With assiatnce from the Siblings in the skies

All shall be suspects, and all shall be betrayed

For the Imposter is shrouded in her best disguise.

Yet there is one flaw reflected in her Jewels -

Revealing her as the one Woman that no one could doubt.

* * *

Also, if there are any fans of the story _Cups Aren't Just for Tea_ (from _Our-Madness-Hides-Within_ ), I recommend you look at my story _My Week with Tarrant_ \- for it is a multichapter fic that expands on the one-shot.


	2. The Ascot Manor and its Dreaded Party

**Disclaimer:** The characters and places that appear in this story do not belong to me. They are the intellectual property of Tim Burton, Linda Woolverton, Lewis Carroll, Disney, and all other parties affiliated with _Alice in Wonderland_ and _Alice Through the Looking Glass_. I do not gain any monetary profit from this story - it was written solely for entertainment purposes. Furthermore, the original plot belongs to _Our-Madness-Hides-Within_ and it is expected that our fellow writers have the moral standard to not try and steal it.

 **Author's Notes:** Hi! As promised, here is the first of the original seven chapters written by the original author. Sometime next week (count on it being on the weekend) I'll be uploading the second chapter, with the Mad Hatter as narrator. I don't have much to say about the chapter except: read, review, and enjoy! Though do mind I know nothing about Victorian England titles.

* * *

 _ **Chapter 1: The Ascot Manor and it's Dreaded Party**_

The waves lapped in front of the woman, turbulent and angry. Above her, the sky covered in London's familiar smoke and storm clouds foreshadowed the danger ahead that made her skin crawl as she stared. Rain wetted every surface outside, reducing the visibility considerably except when a lightning bolt struck and covered the vicinity in a ten-mile radius for a hot second in blinding light to then disappear. One particular boat in the rocking sea caught the woman's interest, and was at that moment outlined in white when one of these landed. That let her see the clear chaos on board. Albeit the woman standing on the port wasn't on _The Wonder_ , she could see the turmoil and the hardships they were currently facing. She couldn't even begin to fathom what was going though her daughter's mind.

The ship tumbled and jumped around with the ocean's displeased and ungraceful movements. Helen rocked around the port too in a gentler fashion because of the fierce winds that kept blowing on her slightly-subdued mess of blonde curls. She wished she could go aboard and take her daughter away from her impending end. Although Helen trusted her wholeheartedly, even she without knowing anything about commanding a ship, knew it was a lost cause. _The Wonder_ was in too deep. She felt helpless and useless - as she had always felt in any given social situation for most of her life - because she couldn't stop the storm, control the ship, or even save her daughter. All she could do was stare. _Stare and pray_.

The scene became more horrific as time went along, bringing more savage rain and more frequent lightning strikes. What Helen most wanted was to scream, but refrained knowing it'd be useless and couldn't do anything to help the situation. She was holding back tears, accustomed for years to never show what she truly felt, having been taught it was common courtesy and part of a lady's proper behavior. She was beginning to become desperate as things started flying out of the boat. Prayers for her daughter's safety filled her head, but her throat became dry as she saw the outline of her husband's prized possession become the ocean's. She saw small shadows of what she guessed were people jumping out, but knew none of them were her daughter. A captain has to sink with her ship. As the hull broke in half and disappeared, Helen's mind was covered by one word like fog: _Alice!_

Helen woke up with a start, rising to a sitting position so fast her back hurt.

"It wasn't real, it wasn't real, it wasn't real..." she calmed herself, slowing her heart, head, and breathing.

She rose, still shaky from her nightmare, and her temple hurting from the quiet tears now dried on her cheeks. The window on the wall showed the sun setting, and the clock on the wall chimed 7:30 p.m.

It's nearly time, she thought, as she moved away from her youngest daughter's bed. Ever since Alice had become The Wonder's captain, and hadn't returned since, Helen had spent time regularly on this, her childhood room—cleaning it, arranging it, preserving it—for if, no, _when_ she returned. She couldn't allow doubt to seep into her mind. She wouldn't be able to stand it. Sometimes, when she really missed her, and her own room would feel cold and uninviting, she fell asleep there, surrounded by Alice's things and the smell of her perfume.

Across the hall, Helen walked back to her room to look for something decent to wear, the old faded white dress with small holes around the sides she had currently on not being proper in her opinion. As she opened her wardrobe, she grew worried, for it was filled only with old dresses, none of them as elegant as she wished them to be. She chose the one that looked the least bad, a yellow one with a string around the waist, and styled it with the necklace she always wore—a gift from Charles. She also included a string of pearls on her bun. She lastly took out the only pair of gloves she owned, a rubbish faded blue with holes on all the fingers' tops—courtesy of Alice—and stuck them on the side of the string. The letter on her writing desk, one with a wax emblem of a Lion signaling it came from the Ascots, laid open. Helen sighed, not feeling like attending the incorporation of the newest Lady Ascot—a _dreadful_ thing named Alexandra, she had heard—for the original plan was for the youngest Kingsleigh, currently in Peking, to take on that title.

Eventually, after telling herself countless times that it'd be rude if she never showed up, Helen dragged her feet unwillingly down the stairs. A last look at the mirror showed her the bun she made was as neat as it would ever be, the pale faded yellow evening dress she smoothed as well as she could, and a blue butterfly fluttering slightly above and behind her. She never took notice of the latter though, albeit it had been following her since the rising of the sun that was now sinking like the ship in her nightmares. The carriage awaited her in the front of the Kingsleigh Estate, and she boarded carefully. As the driver closed the door of the vehicle he accidentally didn't allow the butterfly access, to the insect's disdain. The horses started moving, and the butterfly was forced to follow by flying along, trying not to get stepped on.

The ride was dull and quiet, the streets draining from color and people as the moon rose higher and higher to take its place of honor in the sky. The carriage bumped along the cobblestone paths at first, until they slowly digressed to dirt, making a much smoother ride, when they reached the section of London dedicated to the manors holding the upper class of useless, rich landowners.

St _op, Helen, that was rude,_ she thought to herself. She realized she was starting to resemble her daughter in her rebellious attitude towards society the longer her travels stretched. Or maybe—she let herself wonder for there was no interesting landscape outside the windows—she had always been like that, but to end the silence Alice left behind in her wake, she just started expressing it more.

Finally, the carriage rounded the circle that led to the wide and giant doors to the ballroom of the mansion. As they turned, Helen caught sight of the tree holding the fabled rabbit hole and the wonders there were under it Alice would never stop rambling about before she left to sea. She'd have to take a look for herself there someday, see where precisely she hit her head.

Meanwhile, the blue butterfly kept close track of the carriage, it being a lot easier now that it was late in the evening and the streets weren't full of muck and people and carts and those _dreadful_ dogs on almost all of the corners and alleys. He - because it _was_ a he, whether anyone believed it or not - turned towards the rabbit hole which lead to his home, thinking how to guide his target there and make her fall. He considered another option, one that would make it simpler to return her home for there wasn't any of that viscous purple liquid as far as he knew.

"Mrs. Kingsleigh," the man that opened the door greeted with a bow. Too tired to deal with the mannerisms, but still firmly rooted in acting as a guest would - _with gratitude,_ she reminded herself - she simply nodded her head as if it were bowing in her stead. He offered a hand to help her down, but she kindly refused it.

"Thank you, my dear man, but I have yet to reach the age where I need assistance to get off a carriage."

The butterfly chuckled, though been so small it wasn't noticed by anyone nearby, because that was something she would definitely say. He was still confused as to how much older she looked now - he could've sworn she was nineteen the last time he had seen her, yet was now in her late forties - but he decided Time must probably work differently in Overland. And they needed her, their Champion, no matter in what state she came. They - and specially _him_ , the man that had first thought of bringing her back - were so desperate they wouldn't care less if she came back home in a shape that resembled one of a gelatin.

Helen found herself staring at the ostentatious entrance of the Ascots' with a dread she hadn't expected. She had never been able to stand the kind of people that loved showing of how much richer and powerful they were than the rest. The only good soul residing there, she knew, was Lord Ascot, but he was currently on a business travel such as her daughter. Anyway, for duty called, she raised her skirt slightly to climb the marble stairs, and tried her best for her smile to be convincing. The butterfly kept closer to whom he believed was his land's Champion, having learned his lesson, and managed to get into the house without much trouble alongside her.

"Mrs. Kingsleigh," the current Lady Ascot greeted with a smile that was so conspicuously fake, and stretched her face's muscles so tightly, Helen was _impressed_ there were barely any wrinkles on her face.

"Lady Ascot," she replied with equal - and pretend - excitement. She curtsied, and the soon-to-be Lady Ascot coughed all but too subtlety at the lack of a greeting. "Mrs. Ascot," Helen guessed at the title as she greeted, and added "Mr. Ascot." He looked slightly insulted, and raised his nose even farther in disgust if that was even humanly possible.

"The proper way which to greet me is as _Baron_ Ascot, and my wife as _Baroness_ , Mrs. Kingsleigh," he corrected with an air of authority and face of perpetual condescendence.

 _Yes, whatever,_ Helen thought quietly while she bowed to him and referred to him properly. Before they lead her deeper into what she considered to be the Lion's Den, she thought one sentence over and over, like a mantra to keep her composure.

 _This is going to be a_ _ **very**_ _long night._


	3. A Desperate Man and his Mad Idea

**DISCLAIMER:** Chapter One: _The Ascot Manor and it's Dreaded Party_ includes it. Every word still stands and applies to the story, nonetheless.

 **NOTES:** Hello, dear readers. God, I am so sorry this took so long. You have no idea, from the bottom of my heart I am terribly sorry. I have had a crazy year, but the recent inflow of many new subscribers to this story, as well as the fact that testing season is ending, convinced me to come back and start posting again. I'll try to be more consistent. If anyone is still here, I greatly appreciate your loyalty. I hope it wasn't misplaced. Next chapter will be up in a few hours, and the one after that in a few days. From that point onward, I'll be uploading every Sunday (that's the goal, anyway). Occasional mid-week postings may occur. But I promise I will not ghost this story again. I hope you all will be able to forgive me, and continue this incredible journey with me. Next chapter is Alice POV.

* * *

 _ **Chapter 2: A Desperate Man and his Mad Idea**_

 _Three months earlier..._

He walked incessantly, as were the rest of the brave souls serving as guards outside the giant White Castle. He was quiet, they all were, waiting any second for a scream to resound from either inside or outside Marmoreal. The vicinity was eerily silent, absent from the usual clatter and noise, but he didn't truly notice. His mind and thoughts were busy inserting all that was missing in his opinion. Safety in the land, trust amongst the people, loud and joyful voices, a certain blonde girl...

 _No, I must concentrate; I mustn't let my thoughts go astray_ , he thought. Yet the man hesitated, unwilling to return to a world where everyone was terribly scared, and he was terribly alone. _Two years_. He had been alone for two years, one sentence, one promise, haunting him at every hour. _I'll be back before you know i_ t. Had she forgotten? Did she truly mean it? Was she trapped or in trouble Over There? Did she not want to return?

Why did it feel like he'd never receive any answers?

The man didn't notice where he was walking until he felt himself bump against something. As he blinked, unpleasantly leaving his mind for the current situation, he noticed it was one of the Tweedles.

"Hey! Watch where you're going, Hatter!"

It took him a second to respond with a quick apology, and they both went their separate ways. Oh, this job was _boring_! He held tighter to the spear he was holding, bringing it higher up, and kept walking. That was all he had done since people had started to disappear. Hold a spear and walk around, expecting a thief that never came.

Hatter looked around, trying to keep his mind of going back to the image of the girl he took a fancy to fading away into purple smoke, and looked at his fellow guards. He was impressed Nivens McTwisp had decided to take on the job, having honestly never been the "adventurous" type, but expected and was happy to see feisty little Mallymkum. Of course, the hideous cat had vanished to who-knows-where as he always did, that cowardly thing. But his efforts were futile, for later when he had nothing better to think about, his mind drifted as it always did to her, and he let it for he enjoyed loosing himself in her golden curls. That damned and blessed girl. _His Champion._

Hatter stopped to turn to look at the sky, towards Overland, and tried to imagine what Alice was doing as he walked. He honestly couldn't come up with a reasonable answer. He tried, but he didn't know anything about her land, and so couldn't really say. He hoped she was drinking tea, and thinking of him. Sadly, the milliner knew that probably wasn't the case. It didn't sound like her. She'd much rather use her imagination to think about what it felt like to fly, or some other mad thing. He wondered if Alice had kept her muchness, or if that light had gone out like a candle at a birthday party when Reality blew upon it, like last time.

Memories are like sunshine, he realized. At first, when you step through and into them, they leave a warm sensation all over you, and vitalize you. Though, if you weren't careful and stayed there too long, you could get burned (sometimes very severely) and they leave an - _usually -_ invisible wound that never quite heals. He felt himself get burned, felt the ache in his heart widen, and let go of the subject. Trying to find a means to distract himself again, he turned towards Marmoreal, towards the Queen he served gladly and the white bishop soldiers standing beside her, the blue butterfly speaking to her.

He had expected Underland to get better once the White Queen returned rightfully to the throne, and it had. _Slightly_. Then, the first animal - a Dodo bird -disappeared. And slowly, one by one, in very different places and circumstances, another twelve animals and people were taken out of the face of the earth quite suddenly, like yanking flowers out of a garden. All had gone down from there, slowly but constantly. His world was like a phoenix, Hatter mused with nothing better to think about - and feeling rather poetic - having been born out of the ashes of the Bluddy Behg Hid, only starting to soar before it burned up and returned to ashes. Would it ever rise again?

" _Highly_ unlikely," a deep voice said near him, as if reading his thoughts. He turned around, surprised, and met the familiar face of Absolem. His rather new wings still managed to annoy the Hatter, wishing he could stick them into his own back and use them to fly away from his once-again deteriorating homeland, the ever-present insecurity, the ghosts that haunted him, and fly right into her arms. Only, he was afraid those arms would close and back away at the sight, with a ring on the second-to-last finger, or look at him blankly and with an arched brow. He shook, wanting to get that thought as far away from him as he could. But, quite fortunately, an idea suddenly came to the Hatter - a mad, _wonderful_ idea - to take the place of those horrible thoughts as he greeted the wise blue butterfly.

"Absolem, do you think she'll ever return?" He looked at the sky once more, and he knew he needn't even say the name for him to know who he was talking about.

"Did you not _hear_ , Hatter? Highly unlikely," he responded with absolute condescendence. _What a way to raise the spirits on such sad times_ , the hat-maker thought to himself, but decided to not speak aloud. "The White Queen ordered me to tell you she's given you a break. Follow me," the butterfly told him after a minute of awkward silence between the two. He raised an orange brow, but followed after him, knowing whatever it was would still be more entertaining than staring at the distance for another hour before lunch.

They walked for a while, though the one that truly did all the walking was the milliner. The butterfly was several stone throws away, and the man followed him cautiously. Nowadays, one couldn't walk around distracted, or you might just never arrive to your destination. An idea was gnawing at Hatter's conscience, the one that had formulated at the sight of Absolem's wings, but the more he thought about it the more desperate he became. Rather, the more he dreamed about her the more forlorn he felt. _Could he...?_ No. He had already said no, or rather _highly unlikely_. But, oh, his heart _ached_! Anything that might bring him relief he would gladly try to accomplish.

Only until a while later did he notice the blue butterfly had been having a rather long conversation with him, though it would be more correctly phrased in Hatter's opinion that he was having a conversation directed _at_ him that he just didn't listen to. _It mustn't be really important_ , he thought, _because if Absolem hadn't noticed I wasn't paying attention, it meant it was mostly one-sided_. The hat-maker was considering the right moment to propose his plan when Absolem stopped hovering. "Have you ever noticed sometimes your eyes tell the thousands of words you daren't give a voice to, Hatter?" The question caught him by surprise, and he shook his head honestly.

Though _that_ explained a lot.

"The Queen tells me you are very bright, especially and as to be expected, at your craft. You are very creative, and I can see that by the millions of ideas and questions formulating and flying around behind your irises."

 _The White Queen really thought that?_ the hat-maker asked in his head with pride and amazement. He wondered where this conversation was going, though.

"Do you have any out-of-the-box plans for finding the abductees?" Of course. Why had Hatter thought any different, even bothered to think of any other reason Absolem would talk to him? Everyone wanted them back, even he so the land would return to peace. He was lucky no one he loved disappeared. Not in that way, in any case. There was no one to take if she wasn't here.

Now, he was faced with the perfect chance to propose his idea, but knowing Absolem, he'd have to offer it in a way that answered his request. The desperation, the _butterflies_ he felt at the thought she could return barely let him think before he spoke. "Well, this may sound strange, but then again we're desperate, right? And that's what we're aiming that, out-of-the-box." Hatter waved his hands a bit, a tick of his that only happened when he was scared or nervous, in which case he was both. "Anyway, I think it's time we call back our - our Champion." When the butterfly looked at him like he was actually considering the idea, Hatter bit his lip out of both anxiety and trying not to laugh. Had he _seriously_ been the only one that had thought of that plan?

"Maybe. Let's unroll the Oraculum and see what it has to say," the wise butterfly declared, and went over to the massive paper that held all of Underland's history (past and present). Busy within the confines of his mind, the milliner hadn't noticed they had walked until they reached the mushroom where Absolem used to reside when he was still a caterpillar. The Oraculum shifted with time and need, and this version of it was made up of mostly words, and a few images. It had what seemed a poem, maybe an epic, and an illustration of two shadows he'd recognize anywhere facing backward and walking to the horizon. Hatter couldn't really see much or very well for Absolem's wings covered the paper from his vision, probably on purpose.

After a moment of silence in which Absolem read and Hatter waited, the butterfly spoke. "It warns she isn't to come yet. She will soon, though, when - "

Hatter felt a giant pang of fear course through him as the man stopped speaking. It was unsual, Absolem loved the sound of his voice too much to stop midsentence, and the way his eyes softened slightly, looking like they were choosing whether or not to tell the hat-maker something.

"When a close friend of hers falls," Absolem continued. The milliner gulped audibly, considering himself one of her closest friends, and that meant he was in danger of "falling". Whatever that was supposed to mean. How he hated these oracle-things and their vagueness! "We won't get what we desire if we bring her in ourselves," the butterfly added, as if to retun conviction to his tone after that impromptu stop earlier.

What did that precisely indicate, though? Couldn't the Oraculum be as straight-forward as it had been about Alice being the only one that could kill the Jabberwocky _now_?

The butterfly closed the Oraculum and turned to looked at him. The glint in his eyes past the monacle gave Hatter the impression he was waiting for a response to the limitations, though he could've been mistaken since Absolem was very mysterious in the way he carried himself. "So?" The thick and low British accent the being possessed confused him, because he didn't understand whether he was asking for more ideas or what to do about what the Oraculum said.

"So. We bring her."

The wise butterfly chuckled, maybe even scoffed. He looked down at the milliner with a look of an annoyed parent explaining something for the eighth time to a toddler, and spoke with a tone to match the expression. "The Oraculum said we _can't_. It's a stupid idea to disregard it. I might just call it... _mad_."

"Well, I am called The Mad Hatter for a _reason_ , Absolem," he answered smoothly with a playful tone. Yep, he knew about that silly little nickname his friends used behind his back. Before the butterfly could continue talking, or start apologizing, the milliner returned the conversation to more important matters. "Also, she's our only hope. We've tried everything else to no avail." The butterfly nodded, agreeing with his words.

After some thought and Hatter swinging back and forth from the heels to the tips of his toes in quiet boredom, Absolem spoke. "If the Queen agrees, I shall go out to seek her at the crack of dawn." The hat-maker's face split into a grin that would've made Chessur _very_ jealous.

Resisting the urge to jump around or Futterwacken, the hat-maker accompanied the butterfly to the front of Marmoreal's front entrance. As they walked, Absolem kept reminding Hatter that it was up to the _Queen_ to approve the plan and the different steps of it, and that he would be seeking him for other ideas if they couldn't. "I'll try my best to convince her nonetheless, for I agree it could work." They stopped in the spot where Hatter had been keeping guard, marked because of the spear on the ground.

He turned to look at the butterfly, eyes pleading and kneeling to beg in the haberdasher's stead. "Whatever it takes, _please_ bring her to us. Bring her to me. Or I might just loose my head." Absolem's eyes widened at his last sentence, and the milliner thought he looked... _scared? Worried?_

The wise butterfly hovered away, and spoke to the Queen until they went inside Marmoreal. Hatter turned the other way, and retrieved the spear he hadn't noticed he had left on the ground. Brushing dirt from his coat with swift movements from his left hand, he rose again. He continued walking as if nothing had happened.

"Hey, McTwisp!"

The rabbit turned to the hat-maker's whispers with an alarmed expression until he saw who he was talking to. The milliner pointed to his wrist with his index finger, indicating that he wanted to know what time it was.

"Foirtin hours with twinthy and siv minutes."*

 _Great, so another half-hour before lunch_ , he thought. Nodding in gratitude, he kept walking as he should. Once he had done a few circles, he looked up to the sky once more, towards the land of his Champion. _Hang on, Alice. You don't have to worry anymore. We're coming for you this time, and you and I will be together again_ , he thought to himself as he turned back down to face the bleak horizon, bringing his spear farther up.

 _Before you know it._

* * *

*Foirtin hours with twinthy and siv minutes is two twenty-seven p.m. (2:27) in Underland


	4. A Sea Captain and her Grand Facade

**DISCLAIMER:** Chapter One: _The Ascot Manor and its Dreaded Party_ includes it. Every word still stands and applies to the story, nonetheless.

 **NOTES:** Hello everyone. Chapter 3 of the story posted slightly after Chapter 2. I know… I'll be bombarding you all with the next few chapters (up to Ch 7 within this week) before I slow down and finish writing the rest. Sorry, I still feel guilty about starving you guys from content for so long. I guess this is my apology. Few things: I used Google Translate for the Chinese, the POVs change between Alice and an OC, and George Phelps is my invention. About her age, son to the one seen in ATTLG.

I hope you enjoy :)

* * *

 _ **Chapter 3: A Sea Captain and her Grand Façade**_

The salty breeze of the ocean brushed against Alice Kingsleigh's smiling face. To anyone standing by, she looked confident, proud, and peaceful. Confident in her commandeering of the ship, proud of having accomplished what very few and privileged women had before, and peaceful amongst the calm of the seas. But, that was just a façade. Within, she was none of those things, resembling not the tranquil waters she was currently coursing, but the violent storm of her nightmares.

This was because of her mind, her greatest asset, ally, and enemy. Everywhere the young captain turned, the land of her dreams and truest home haunted her. The navy-blue waistcoat worn by her First Mate reminded her of McTwisp, the flowers in the cook's hair reminded her of the garden she had entered after the room with doors, the tea served every afternoon reminded Alice of...

 _Of_...

The captain brushed away the tears she didn't notice were starting to well up on the edges of her eyes and were threatening to fall. She couldn't afford to look sad, to look _weak_ , in front of her crew. The only reason there was no mutiny aboard _The Wonder_ was because of her surprising ability to be incredibly stern and strong-willed and headstrong. And so she would remain. Twice as heartless as any male captain.

Remembering business still pending and undone, she walked into her chambers, which also served as her office. Her writing desk was bursting with business deals, maps, charts, bills, and all sorts of other papers. The one that outshone them in her opinion now was the envelope with an Eagle emblem on the wax atop all of them. Alice rushed towards it, curious what news Margaret brought for her, her mind too occupied to remind the young sea captain of the biggest mistake of her life now. Once she pulled out the letter, she read earnestly, scanning and perusing the page.

 _Dearest sister,_

 _I hope you are faring well at sea, and that the weather has favored you. I heard there were rumors of a storm by China. Has there been any trouble on board? I truly hope not. How far away are you from Peking? Please, tell me all about the trip so far! I'm dying of curiosity to know. Anyway, good news is that here in London, close to the estate, a friend of Father's recently set up a haberdashery shop. Yes, it might be random of me to mention such a small thing, but you seemed rather interested in headwear before you left. We could go there sometime once you're back. I should be feeling better by then._

 _The_ _bad news is, that a few weeks ago Lowell and I went to the infirmary to check up on the little one, and we were sadly informed that it was a miscarriage. We have both been terribly depressed and miserable since then! Mother has been very supportive and understanding, but my love for doing things has vanished! I would really benefit from your company, sister mine. How much longer until your return? I'm truly trying to cope, believe me, but I feel so sluggish, like something's wrong with me. Do you think I've gone 'round the bend? You seem to be the one that knows best about lunacy._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Margaret M._

"Goodness, the very last thing I wanted to hear," Alice whispered as she laid her head upon the desk, the lack of sleep starting to mix with the overwhelming emotional baggage she carried that only got bigger and heavier with time's passing. "And the last thing Margaret needed."

Lifting only her head, she looked at the page again, elbows rudely over the table, willing the words to melt, fade, or run away in shame. They disobeyed her wishes, remaining on the page. Her head met the wood again, but harder this time, causing her to cry out in pain. The letter fell from her hands to the floor as they reached for her forehead.

Just how long ago had this letter been written? Why had Margaret been so straightforward in her writing? How would she tell her sister she might not be back until next year? What could she do to make her feel better?

Alice, knowing she'd have to respond at some point, ignored her own questions and reached for the letter, paper, and pen. She made sure all three were on the desk, breathing deeply before she begun. After a moment when she found herself unable to even write a greeting, the youngest Kingsleigh placed her sister's letter angrily back inside of its envelope and moved said envelope as far away from her as she could. Then, with another deep breath, she absentmindedly scribbled only a sentence on the clean sheet in front of her before a cry brought her to her senses.

"Captain!"

The ruddy face of her First Mate, 25-year-old George Phelps Jr, appeared by her door, happiness being easily able to be read on his features. Noticing her stance upon the table that made it look like she was asleep, and the constellation on her lashes because of unshed tears, he backed away slightly, alarm replacing the joy in a heartbeat. He audibly swallowed. She, in turn, immediately straightened and accidentally threw the paper upon which she had been writing to the floor.

"Wha - what is it, George?" Alice asked, turning around so he could not see her face and to pick up her reply to the letter, which fell conveniently to the side not facing the door.

"You might want to have a look for yourself," George said, voice once again happy, though it seemed forced. He cleared his throat. "Whenever you are ready."

"I was _born_ ready. Have you learned nothing about me?" she asked teasingly as she rose and faced him with dry eyes, her lighthearted tone letting the First Mate know she was joking. Chuckling, he walked out into the deck. Alice sighed as soon as she was sure he was far away.

The sea captain, her smile having disappeared, placed the quill still dripping ink upon the ink well, and turned around to face her desk. In her scramble to pick up her reply to Margaret's letter, several unpaid bills had spilled from the table like angels falling from grace. Alice knelt and picked them up hastily, placing each with a forceful _thump_ upon the table for they only darkened her mood. Once done, having decided she would deal with those later, the sea captain headed outside. From her view beside the wheel, the port of Peking gleamed in the sun and the youngest Kingsleigh could see the shadows of bustling life.

Excitement wiped away momentarily her worries from her head, a small genuine smile—the first in months—forming on her lips. Then, she remembered she had to pack her things before heading down to the port, and that meant walking back into the office that held and kept gaining more bad news. With unexpected dread, she turned around and walked back in. Grabbing various things and stuffing them to a leather satchel as quickly as she could without wrinkling the pages, she practiced her mandarin under her breath, starting with greetings.

Although she worked in haste and with her mind in a million places, when she reached for the sheet upon which she had written information about several business contacts in Peking her focus was channeled very efficiently to the paper that laid beside it. It was the reply she had begun writing for Margaret, except the one sentence she wrote addressed it to someone else entirely.

 _My dearest and maddest Hatter_

Alice wanted to slap herself. Why in the world had she written that? The letter was intended to be for her _sister_. Goodness, she really could use some sleep!

It wasn't completely unusual, that she recognized. Within her heavy satchel were several letters she had addressed to almost every citizen of Underland she'd had the pleasure to meet—even the not-so-pleasurable Knave and Queen of Hearts. But she had always avoided _him_. She knew she wouldn't be able to stand it.

Then again, she had already begun it, and Alice wasn't one to leave things undone. Fate and her subconscious had quite graciously offered the Champion an incentive to make amends with the man, to whom she owed one lengthy apology, and she would take it. Reluctantly, the youngest Kingsleigh placed the beginning of Hatter's letter gently amongst all the other documents, along with another clean quill so she could continue it whenever she had a chance. With that, she walked outside.

The sun was bright, beautifully bright, as Alice Kingsleigh walked down to the Peking port, stopping at the end of the plank to admire the scene. The area was filled with other captains and their crews unloading and storing cargo. Her own men were among them, taking boxes to a building deep in the city that would soon _hold Kingsleigh and Kingsleigh's_ first small business to sell the Ascot company's English merchandise. Since she was busy observing, it took her a moment to realize George Phelps soon stood to her side, grin wide as ever, and face slightly flushed, probably because of the heat.

"So... Where to first?" he asked.

Alice turned to look at him with that face she constantly did to English men, though this time a smile adorned it. "I think there should be a _captain_ in there somewhere."

With that, and without waiting for a response from his part, the youngest Kingsleigh placed her right foot over the Chinese floor and set it down decidedly, the rest of her body joining it with a graceful jump of sorts. She knew it would be considered odd to descend in such a way, even in the eyes of her First Mate who had seen her do much crazier things, but such realization only made her smile wider.

"Always want to start on the right foot, eh George?" She called out to him in a playful tone a little way ahead, wanting to reassure him that she was fine, to make sure the facade didn't fall. He grinned and joined her. The captain sighed mentally, seeing as how he believed she was happy, which meant everything would run smoothly. That there would be no questions which would land her in Middlesex or Bedlam.

Once he caught up, slightly breathless, they started their way, the sun and the captain's pocket watch indicating it was about three in the afternoon. They sauntered down the busy and overcrowded streets, Alice regularly checking her map of the city of Peking to make sure they were on route to the British Ambassador's building. They'd be staying there while resolving the different business matters pending in the city. Several people bumped shoulders against them, and her foot was constantly stepped on. Who was she to complain, though, having stepped on various people as many times?

A wrong turn led both Alice and George to one of the Chinese markets. If they had thought the streets outside had been a mess, this was considerably worse. The pungent air within made her First Mate's sensible gag reflex almost incontrollable, but Alice found some comfort in it. Weirdly enough, it smelled similar to Marmoreal's kitchen once Thackery had gotten a hold of it. Also, this marketplace had nothing against the moat in Salazen Grum.

They stood there—the captain admiring the scene in wonder, and the First Mate trying really hard not to lose the small breakfast he'd had—as the other clients walked past and sometimes bumped against them. It was so _crowded_! Beautifully so, she thought. The chaos was almost like an embrace, making her faceless and invisible. Though she couldn't move her arms, Alice had never felt like she could breathe easier than within the market.

Eventually, after the youngest Kingsleigh found the easiest way out, she took hold of George's hand and started taking him along, seeing his unnatural greenish hue and how he could barely walk. They sauntered past the uncounted amounts of clients and merchants and stands, and Alice saw the different meals they sold - identifying the fish as most putrid in their fragrances. The captain was amazed at the number of things that fit in one thin corridor. She also saw many stands of hand-made bags of what seemed a million colors and a porcelain doll stand.

That one had fascinated her because of the great craftsmanship and the detail in the gentle faces, but what had truly caught her eye were the porcelain materials in the back, ones which made her recall a memory, both distant and recent. As such, without George realizing it until she had stopped moving, the sea captain derailed from the exit and stood in front of the porcelain stand.

"Xiàwǔ hǎo," the tenant greeted. It took the captain a second to translate the older Chinese woman's words as _good afternoon_. Alice said the same, and stayed quiet, thinking of how to say her next sentence. "Wô zênme bāng nî?"

It was her first mate who was her salvation. "How may I help you?" he whispered, and his captain nodded in gratitude.

"Cháwân."

Thankfully, the tenant noticed they were both foreign. George, the fact his mandarin was better than his captain's being an important reason for his employment, looked at her confused and asked with his gaze why she had asked for such a thing, but she didn't look at him. Alice's brown eyes avoided his blue.

The stand-runner understood the simple word uttered with some difficulty by the sea captain and went towards the section of other porcelain materials that didn't sell as much. The dolls took center-stage, so she had to more towards the back. Once she was in the section Alice had asked, the tenant took a handful and placed them in front of The Wonder's captain and first mate.

"Teacups?" George asked Alice as she sorted through them, trying to find the one that had caught her eye. Eventually, after sorting through white cups with gold rims and green swirls and geraniums, she found it. The simplest, yet the prettiest. Also, Alice smiled as she noticed, the bluest. _He must have done that on purpose_ , she thought gladly.

The tea cup in her hand was wide-rimmed, circular, and mostly white. Simple at first glance, it took someone with an attention to details such as Alice to spot the beauty in its build and design. It had a light blue drawing of what seemed a town that was very well done, and she appreciated being an artist herself. It had the mountains as background, the sun's rays over what seemed a valley, and a bridge with two polls—or two people? —separating it in three. The thin blue paint strokes forming the design were beautiful, even if the rest of the cup was simple.

"Wû yuán," the Chinese lady said, indicating that the cup costed five yuan. Taking out a pouch, _The Wonder_ 's captain gave the tenant what she asked, and took the tea cup, holding it as if it were a child, or a lover's hand. The First Mate tried not to stare at her too strangely.

Alice and George kept walking through the markets, though she was concentrating more in steading her heartbeat than where she was going. Goodness, it couldn't be! It looked _exactly_ like Hatter's teacup! It had everything—the wide rim, the stunning hand-painted design—except for ten years' worth of use. The most wonderful memento she could've ever found.

Thoughts of Marmoreal's high tower the night before the fabled Frabjous Day, and those deep and bright emerald eyes filled her head until she felt herself bump into something. As her vision focused, she noticed it was a someone. Alice apologized various times, and the robust man went his merry way huffing and puffing like a big bad wolf. The thought of the man with a furry tail made her smile, but it fell at George's arched brow.

"I left all my teacups in London," she explained, knowing he was asking why she had bought it. Still not looking very sure that was the real reason, but content enough with the answer, he turned to face forward. Alice willed herself not to get lost in thoughts of a place she couldn't visit for at least another year and faced forward.

On their way out of the market, the youngest Kingsleigh was distracted yet again by a stand of fabrics and other tailor's materials. The stand-runner wasn't there then, so he didn't see her approach and take hold of one of the things he was selling. Her hand wandered to the spool of fabric that had caught her eye, and she realized it was satin— _those rambles the Hatter had done when he was in a fit while we were walking through the ruins of Witzend taught me something_ , she realized happily—of the deepest scarlet, with undertones of orange. Oh, it looked like his hair, so much it ached her heart so!

A hand on her shoulder brought her back to her senses, and she saw the worried and greenish face of her First Mate staring at her and the fabric with curiosity, trying to see the deeper meaning only she found there.

"The Embassy should be to the right," she whispered with a hoarse voice, and let the satin brush through her fingers like she'd always had wanted to do with his frizzy hair before returning to George and leaving the market.

* * *

It had been a complete triumph not losing his breakfast inside the market with the pungent fish and fabrics and... _teacups_. George's captain and her well-being worried him, always had and apparently always would, but today her strangeness had manifested itself in a new and odder way. A way that did not fit her yet seemed more natural than her usual sternness that turned to teasing happiness only around him.

He had never seen her so distracted and weak before. It wasn't a bad, slinky kind of weak, though. A more accurate way to describe it would be a weak of holding too many things back, too many feelings and tears concealed behind clever lies and convenient deflections. Of course, he wouldn't just ask bluntly what was wrong—having known his captain for two years now, he knew that she wouldn't open to anyone so easily.

He understood Alice was prone to flights of fancy, to losing herself in her mind for a few minutes, but what he saw today was constant, negative, and George had a nagging sensation it had so much more to do with her heart than with her mind. It worried him, but he did not want to think about it. Didn't want to consider the fact he boasted he knew Alice the best amongst the crew, yet he didn't know her at all. That the gorgeous, teasing, amiable Alice he had befriended and - he had to admit - fallen in love with was nothing more than a lie. He pushed those thoughts aside as they approached the tall building decorated with a British flag: The Embassy.

"Ah, cheerio! You must be Mr. Phelps and Ms. Kingsleigh," the Ambassador greeted, and he saw from his peripheral vision that Alice's jaw clenched.

"If you don't mind me mentioning it, Ambassador Orwell, it's _Captain_ Kingsleigh." George was impressed by how court she managed to say it.

"Of course, forgive me Captain. Please, do come in! Tea is ready to be served," he told them before opening the door wider to his manor of sorts. George and Alice stopped by the hanger. He made it a point to take off her captain's hat and help her off her coat before starting to take off his various pieces of upper garments. Once he was done, he followed the route she had taken to enter the dining room to be met by a giant table that could easily fit ten for the three of them, seeing as how only Mr. Orwell and Alice were sitting there.

She looked gloomy once again as she stared at the perfectly ordered and matching cups, the equal assortment of biscuits, the giant table for three. _But why?_ George wondered, frustrated. _What can I do to make her feel better?_

George took a seat beside his captain's, and a maid started serving the steaming herbal tea on the cups already placed on the mantel. Alice, noticing this, placed her hand on top of the opening of her cup. She then placed the one she had bought earlier that day beside it.

"Wait! Could you serve the tea on this one instead, please?"

The maid did as she was told on the blue teacup, which made _The Wonder_ 's captain smile apologetically but gratefully. Both men on the table turned to look at her—Orwell wanting to ask a few questions, but George glad his captain looked happier drinking from that cup, looked more at peace with that constant storm in her mind.

Conversation was small and idle, nothing substantial that caught either Alice's or George's attentions for long. Mostly about Chinese fashion and the such, which wouldn't help either assimilate into the country for the small number of weeks they'd be there. But both seemed as interested as possible, for they were going to live with this man for at least two weeks, and they wanted things to run as smoothly as possible.

The biscuits were decadent, and the tea was a strong and sweet flavor, like chamomile. "Isn't that right, Captain?"

Alice's gaze suddenly lifted from the swirling green tea in alarm, as if she had fallen asleep during class and woken up when the teacher mentioned her name. Orwell laughed, and George felt the tension leave her body. "You look so distracted today, Captain Kingsleigh," he started, and she grinned slightly at the fact that the Ambassador hadn't forgotten what she'd said. "Would a stroll through the gardens help clear your mind a bit?"

The First Mate of _The Wonder_ knew the marvels clean air could do to a person, doing it regularly for he was somewhat an insomniac, and turned to look at his captain to see if she'd agree. A small nod after draining her cup and finishing the last of her crumpet told him she did, indeed, agree. Alice rose to bid both a good night, when George got an idea.

"Do you want me to join you, Captain?" George asked, the idea of being completely alone without fear of being overheard with her bringing butterflies to his full stomach. The butterflies died, though, when she shook her head, looking at him apologetically with those dark blue eyes as wide as saucers, and left.

* * *

Alice enjoyed the Chinese air that was clear of the ever-present smoke and fog of London as she walked through the extensive gardens behind the large Embassy, and the fact that at six thirty at night it was slightly dark, but she could actually see farther ahead than her nose. The gardens were wide, and so annoyingly, dazzlingly, intensely, and wonderfully green.

"Green like his eyes," she couldn't stop herself from whispering, and the thought of him, the dejected and miserable look that had haunted her for two years being the very last she saw of her beloved home brought a knot to her throat.

The youngest Kingsleigh reached a bench and landed on it, shoulders slouching as she faced downwards.

"How is a raven like a writing desk?" she muttered with a break at the end of the riddle, letting the tears she'd been holding within the prison of her eyelids finally escape and dance through her cheeks until they landed on the dry dirt at her feet. A distinct smell presided it, the smell of dust after rain, one she had grown to like living in London. The place was forever covered in smog and dust and constantly raining, so she had grown to associate the smell with home. Alice felt strangely comforted.

A few minutes were spent like that, her tears so filled with remorse and regret and yearning exiting her and cleansing her, in a way. Once her temple started throbbing, she took a few shaky gasps, but felt better. It was strange, this garden, for it felt like someplace she could be herself, like an extension of Underland but above. A breeze left her cheeks cold and dry, but she saw it took with ir a piece of paper that escaped her satchel and begun to fly. It only had one sentence written on the top.

She ran, frantically trying to reach it, and it fluttered farther and farther away. As it was going to exit the garden, a white rose bush stopped it, piercing the corner with a few thorns. "Thanks," she whispered as she took the letter, heart beating strongly against her chest as she made her way back to the stone bench she had been sitting on earlier. Looking at the letter again, she saw the same greeting as earlier.

 _My dearest and maddest Hatter_

Alice, not wanting to lose the paper again, tucked it in between two books she had brought to occupy her spare time, and returned to looking at the garden's various flowers, not ready to face it, write it, yet. Her surroundings gave her a sense of calm, quieted her thoughts to leave a pleasant, unknown numbness.

 _Silence._

The sea captain breathed in the fragrances of the place, of the various plants, of the dust after rain. She wondered what it felt like to fly, one of her favorite thought exercises. What that piece of paper—if it could feel—had felt. Probably wonderful, of course, feeling the cold wind brushing against your face and your gaze so much farther and higher up than the rest. _The view must be great from over there_ , she thought. Well, she guessed she'd find out someday, somehow, but not today. Today, she would try to sleep, but probably fail.

As she grabbed the satchel to head back inside, not knowing why she had brought it along, she started writing the letter in her head. Would Alice start with an apology? Saying she'd come back in about a year? Speaking of how she couldn't get him out of her mind? Confessing the butterflies and the guilt that came with the Frabjous Day? The Futterwacken her heart did when she saw him?

The youngest Kingsleigh didn't feel herself enter the house or go up the stairs, and only got taken out of her bustling head when she walked straight into the door. "Ah!" Rubbing her nose, she heard chuckling beside her, and saw her first mate laughing. A smile—small, but genuine—sneaked up to her face, and she gave him a playful death stare before opening the door and walking into the room which smelled like jasmine.

Alice placed the satchel on the small raven black writing desk by the window and took out the envelopes tucked within. _Mirana of Marmoreal, Nivens McTwisp, Thackery Earwicket, Absolem_ , various names from Underland appeared in her handwriting behind all of them. Taking out a quill, and dipping it in the ink already there, she took out another envelope and wrote _Tarrant Hightopp_ on it, deciding his real name should be on the envelope even if she did not address him so.

Staring at the name, at the swirls, at the memories, she realized she didn't know what it felt like to soar, to be suspended in the air. But she did know how it felt to land, to reach the floor harshly. Alice felt herself fall without ever having taken flight. She forced herself to fall on the bed once she let her hair loose for the first time all day, changed to a nightgown, and opened the bed. Once ready, she closed her eyes, waiting for sleep's nightly torture to befall her.


	5. A Blue Insect and its Timely Appearance

**DISCLAIMER:** Chapter One: _The Ascot Manor and its Dreaded Party_ includes it. Every word still stands and applies to the story, nonetheless.

 **NOTES:** And another chapter posted ridiculously fast XD Back to Helen's POV (and a bit of Lady Ascot's!) with this one. Anyway, read, review, and enjoy, as I always say. And thanks for reading :)

* * *

 _ **Chapter 4: A Blue Insect and its Timely Appearance**_

A flock of sycophant peacocks. Helen had heard her youngest and boldest daughter use that phrase often to describe the nobility, and until she was standing on the sidelines of the dance floor—having had no gentleman to dance with for a little over a decade now—she truly saw what she meant by her words. She had also never been prouder to not belong to that class, that type of refined animal, because honestly that was all they were. Savage animals with no thought of any other beings' emotions, following only primitive instincts, and hiding under vaults of British pounds and a reputation to screw people's lives up if made upset. Why Helen had been invited to this soirée she had no idea, thinking of the impending legal hell the Ascots were maneuvering under her nose. Goodness, she really wished to slap that little smug grin _Baron_ Ascot had on his pinched-up face!

Catching the scowl forming on her visage, the oldest Kingsleigh wiped it away as best she could and took a sip from the champagne served in tall glasses handed to her by a faceless maid with gloved hands. At least she seemed to be faceless, for everyone was regarding the young woman as if she didn't exist unless she was serving them. "Thank you," Helen whispered, and the uniformed ginger smiled a small grin as she walked to the next guest. She took a sip, but found she was not in the mood for liquor tonight. Her own bitter bile from the stress she was under ruined the drink's flavor. Still she held it to keep her hands busy and looked at the clock. It was agonizing to see the longer of the hands move to the next minute. Time was passing ever so slowly, for some reason, and that irked her.

Helen stared at the many guests performing the Quadrille at perfect beat with the classical music being played by the band, having nothing better to occupy her head. The simple and precise coordination and order soothed her, thinking of the unruly mess her life had become shortly after Alice left for Peking. A small sigh of longing for that... _predictability_ escaped her as a woman approached her from the side.

"Are you enjoying yourself, Mrs. Kingsleigh?" _No_ , she thought, but turned with a smile to face the current and dangerously old Lady Ascot.

"Please, call me Helen," she told her curtly, trying to change the subject for she really detested to lie. The female owner of the manor called for a maid to give her one of the glasses by raising her hand. The young ginger girl did as she was told—or rather, signaled to—and gave the oldest Kingsleigh a small smile which she returned with Lady Ascot never noticing.

"Elizabeth." Both ladies turned to look at the couples—including the newly wed Hamish and Alexandra—dance; one holding the champagne and tapping the glass quietly her, the other taking continuous sips of the drink. Finally, Elizabeth Ascot spoke. "Isn't Quadrille invigorating?"

Helen thought privately that was too strong an adjective. Comforting, yes. Entertaining, maybe. But _invigorating_? Not quite.

At the mention of disdain for that type of dance, she found her head wondering for once in a very long time far away from where her feet were, dwelling on Alice and _The Wonder_ , when her gaze landed on some flickering. Was that... _a blue butterfly_? What on earth was it doing within the mansion?

* * *

"Helen? Helen? Helen!" The woman bearing the name faintly heard Lady Ascot try to gain her attention, but the flying insect fluttered away down a deserted hallway away from the guests, taking it along.

"Sorry, but I... I need a moment."

That blasted sentence again, and from another Kingsleigh woman! Elizabeth was left standing with a complaint still stuck in her throat, and an awestruck expression on her face as she saw Helen move swiftly through the crowd of dancers and down a hall. Her untouched glass of champagne was left on a table near her hastily in her wake. The band stopped abruptly at the sight of the woman walking, and all the party's guests followed her with their gaze until she vanished. Then, they turned to her with confusion barely readable in their faces. Yet again an Ascot was made a fool of in front of a crowd of guests by a blonde, curly haired woman. Helen's heels resounded as she ran after whatever it was she was chasing. Where was she going? And _why_? Elizabeth would choke her when she returned if she dared tell her she was chasing after a bloody white rabbit wearing a waistcoat!

* * *

It took a blinding beam of moonlight to bring Helen back to her senses. Once she blinked the white spots out of her vision, she saw she was standing in a hall with various doors and paintings on one side and windows on the other. Turning back and to the sides, the oldest Kingsleigh realized with disdain that she was lost. What had she been thinking? _Had_ she been thinking? The fluttering of something near and in front of Helen reminded her of what had led her to her current predicament. Even now, as she was trying to decipher whether she had entered the hall through the right or left, there was something alluring about the flying insect. Almost like a siren call. Maybe it was the party talking, but she believed the butterfly wasn't just going around the manor; it was purposefully leading Helen somewhere. And she was dying to know where that _somewhere_ was.

It fluttered in front of her a few seconds longer before heading to the corner and end of the hallway. "I should go back," she whispered, "that would be what a respectful guest would do."

Helen turned around the hall again, desperation starting to surge through her veins and clouding her judgement. But how in the name of sanity would she find her way to the ballroom without getting more lost? And there was also that nagging feeling that each step Helen took towards the butterfly was a step in the right direction. No one would miss her at the party, anyway. It had flown right at the nick of time to save her from the boredom held in the golden room. She approached it, and it fluttered to the right. The oldest Kingsleigh followed it through various moonlit halls, down corridors and up the stairs of the manor. It started fluttering faster when she reached a hall specifically with uncounted locked rooms, and Helen couldn't even begin to imagine the wonders and terrors they might hold.

After what seemed like hours and the oldest Kingsleigh's heart was beating quickly, forcefully, and out of beat against her chest, the blue insect stopped abruptly before going through a door left slightly ajar. Mentally preparing herself for the wide arrange of things the drawing room might hold, she pushed the door farther open and walked in, her heels quietly tapping against the carpet of the floor.

Surprisingly, the room was—mostly—simple and normal in its contents. It held a writing desk bursting with papers and writing materials by the back. There was also a small fire on the fireplace, a green chair with a wide neck and plush arms, and a small tall table with a candle facing a slightly open window letting a small amount of moonlight filter in. There was also a rug by the chair. Basically, a typical room. As Helen walked further in and looked about, she noticed the only thing that stood out was the looking glass taking center stage on the far wall, with a faded golden edge styled in curves.

Without needing the butterfly to do the same, the oldest Kingsleigh approached it, astounded by the ancient beauty it possessed and the power it seemed to radiate. It was breathtakingly beautiful, and it gave the impression of holding magic. She took off her gloves and tucked them into the string around her waist as she neared. Her hand unconsciously wandered and felt the cool of the bronze—or maybe it was gold? —that formed the edges that resembled the ocean's waves as she brushed it gently, almost reverently. As she looked about the edges and took some dust off them, so beautifully adorned in the odd and circular shape, she caught sight of what was reflected on the silver and crystal-clear surface.

Helen stared at her clear image in the looking glass and noticed the time's toll on her—the worried crevices on her brow and the laughing wrinkles by her eyes. She pushed them around for a bit, pulling her skin gently back to reduce the lines on her face, when suddenly the butterfly flew ahead first into the looking glass. And went _through_.

A gasp escaped the older woman, staring at the ripples in the glass, completely stunned and mind left aghast. She thought it was possible she had just imagined it, but felt her hand unconsciously reach towards the looking glass's reflecting material to prove her theory. It couldn't be. This was most definitely—

"Impossible!" she managed to exclaim as she saw her hand disappear and be consumed by the not-so-solid glass, producing a similar ripple. It felt cold and numb, and she couldn't even feel her fingers. Helen pulled it back out, making another wave of water-like movements to occur on the gelatin-like substance, and the feeling and warmth returned to it. She detested that fact, for it felt like a million red ants were crawling all over inside her skin. She shook her right hand trying to ease the unpleasant sensation.

This seemed like something only Alice could concoct as an excuse for her disappearance— _sorry for having been gone for a while, I was just across the looking glass hanging from a wall on the Ascot Manor, but I'm back now!_ —and one of Charles's six impossible things he would believe in before breakfast. Yet her hand went through, right before her eyes. Seeing is believing, she had heard various times, but she was having trouble doing the latter.

The butterfly didn't emerge again to seek her after a few minutes of her standing there aghast. She remained waiting, alone in the room, until she concluded that it wasn't returning. Helen could've just let it be, seeing as how the blue insect's voyage seemed to be over, and that was exactly the sensible thing to do that she planned as her next move.

Still.

 _Still_.

The oldest Kingsleigh's instinct told her she should follow it to wherever was beyond the looking glass, that all of this had happened for an ulterior motive that was bigger than her.

"Rubbish," she whispered to herself as she shook her head and turned around. She started making her way towards the door, her shoes having some trouble with the fleecy carpet. She stopped midway. She couldn't shake off the feeling. She had to go.

Mentally cursing herself, but determined, Helen approached the mirror, climbing to a thin piece of concrete right below it. Taking a deep breath as if preparing herself to submerge underwater, she started pushing herself through the viscous substance that formed the reflecting material of the looking glass.


	6. A White Castle and its Fallen Soldier

**DISCLAIMER:** Chapter One: _The Ascot Manor and its Dreaded Party_ includes it. Every word still stands and applies to the story, nonetheless.

 **NOTES:** Hello everyone! Another chapter, within the first week back in this story. As you can tell, I am diving into this full-speed ahead. Hopefully tomorrow, I'll post the next two chapters. After those, I need to start writing them from scratch (these so far have been reposts), so I'll slow down the pace to weekly. Read, review, and enjoy everyone!

* * *

 _ **Chapter 5: A White Castle and its Fallen Soldier**_

Hatter stood beside the marble Unicorn statue, reciting the poem which gave the structure its birth under his breath and looking about the never-ending and ever-present whiteness of Marmoreal. He understood she was a _white_ queen, but this was an exaggeration. The man resembled as much as he could the statue beside him, as he was instructed to, but was miserably failing. His posture was ramrod straight, but he balanced on the balls on his feet. No one chastised him for there was no one to do so. The tower chess piece guard which usually accompanied him in his duties was currently having lunch, so the haberdasher stood alone with his growling stomach as his only companion. So, it would remain for only a few more minutes, which was what kept the Hatter stoically staring off into space.

It had seemed an interesting idea at first to the man for the White Queen to be alone in the war room of the castle but having had a few hours of quiet solitude to think about it – because he most definitely didn't want to think of another subject that plagued his mind – he realized the choice made perfect sense. What they were facing _was_ a war, in its own way, against some unknown faceless foe, and the queen had to strategize a way to win for the sake of her kingdom. He couldn't imagine the weight this bestowed upon her delicate shoulders with no king to carry it with her. She was to face this completely alone, and with no one to be able to even aid her. He noticed then he was trembling slightly, as he was wont to do as of late. He wasn't cold, that was for sure. The castle was boiling.

The hat-maker fiddled with the white outfit he had been forced to wear after taking on the role of Personal Escort for the Queen in the chess bishop's stead when he grew terribly ill with his nimble fingers covered with several thimbles and rags hiding cuts both recent and ancient. He hated the formality of a uniform because it made him feel confined and like he was being coaxed into changing one way or another, made him feel like his muchness was slipping away from his grasp, but he understood he needed to look professional. At least, the queen had given him permission to wear his hat which clashed with the pristine pearl hue. For whom he was required to look said way, he couldn't say, but if it made Her Majesty feel better he'd stand it. The last thing she needed to worry about was a hatter that despised the clothes she had so graciously offered. _Her Majesty…_

He hadn't heard anything of her for a while now; not even the ruffling of moving papers amongst other sounds one might emit when working, so he turned around and peeked by the edge of the door to look within the study. Only his hat and part of his face were visible from inside. Hatter's eyes were met first by a table filled with red folders filled to the brim with papers sprawled across it, then a chair moved hastily to the side facing the window farthest away from him, and finally a map of Underland with thirteen tacks in seemingly random places tucked decidedly in the surface. There were also black-and-white pictures of people and animals beside the map, the number of those the same as the number of folders. What he _didn't_ see was what worried him the most. The queen wasn't anywhere on the vicinity. His vision was obstructed by a segment of the wall, but he was unwilling to lean forward or step into the room with the queen's explicit permission. After all she'd gone through with him recently, the last thing he wished to be was a disturbance. Eventually, he risked a step to look farther into the room, and he was met by what he least expected.

"Show me him," the man heard a gentle and female voice whisper a little to his right, where the queen stood passively idle. He recognized it as his sovereign's, of course for he was no fool, but was unclear on whom she was addressing. It was then that he noticed the queen who was giving him his back (rude!) was doing something as small as it was, unlike his original deduction. She chose to face another object: a looking glass, rather than him or her work. To her credit, it was simple, maybe even plain – for a queen at the very least – which surprised him, but he _had_ expected that. Their merciful ruler tried to be the least ostentatious as possible apart from residing in a giant structure made of marble and wearing the finest threads, jewels, and a delicate pearl crown. A Hightopp crown at that, he realized, remembering the many countless nights he had passed by his father completely engrossed with his work as he made his way to bed. The thoughts and memories that preceded and tumbled out after that one created the result of Hatter unconsciously clenching his fist. It was only until his short nails and the metal of his thimbles started digging into his palm that he noticed, and as a result he decided to study the looking glass more closely instead of dwelling on the past. Goodness knows where _that_ had taken him.

The ornate frame surrounding the reflecting glass was golden and shining beneath a layer of wax he could tell was there, meaning it was taken care of and polished often. It was made to look like swirls, as if in a painting that was purposefully surreal. The shape of the frame was odd – or madly peculiar because he thought odd gave a negative connotation to it – like an hourglass except the gap between top and bottom in width wasn't much. Hatter sighed in amazement at the ancient magic rolling off it in waves, and thankfully the queen didn't take notice, too immersed in making an assessment that resembled his, it seemed. If she were to turn around and spot him spying on her, he'd be in terribly deep trouble. He just couldn't take his eyes off the looking glass though, however hard he tried. And the events that followed suit after gave him even more reason to remain where he stood. As he studied the reflection and spotted the queen's petite worried visage, saw his in the corner barely able to be made out, the lady standing closest to it waved her hand in front with a slight flutter, and the reflection started to dim, to fade. Another sigh, again loaded with awe but also confusion, escaped him when it disappeared altogether.

What used to be able to be seen in the glass was replaced with mesmerizing dark blue and light gray swirls mingling like guests would do in a party – close and taunting each with proximity, but never fully mixing into the other color – giving the impression of a whirlpool until it started slowly morphing into what appeared to be a ballroom bathed in golden light. Straight in the middle of the line of vision and image provided by the looking glass, both the queen and man clandestinely being an audience of the spectacle were given the opportunity to stare at what took the Hatter a long time to figure out was a type of dance between various couples, overly-coordinated and impressively perplexing and complex in its own way (nothing like the Futterwacken, that most was certain in his mind). Since there was only a whisper of classical music coming from the looking glass which the man couldn't hear, the scene was comical. But what truly stood out and caught his attention was a little sideways from the graceful movements those lobsters liked to call a dance and so not completely projected. He'd recognize that beautiful and intricate messy maze of blonde curls anywhere at any time in a heartbeat.

It _had_ to be her. No one else could steal the breath of the Hatter without even meeting his emerald gaze or cause his pulse to quicken with a sudden rush of adrenaline he had dearly missed. It was most certainly Alice in flesh and bone, standing to the side of the looking glass's line of vision. But it wasn't _quite_ her, in a way he was sadly accustomed to, for the muchness and individuality he had doted seemed to have been chiseled off to a great degree since their last meeting, almost as if society Over There had been working on making her a statue that befit their standards. The delightful curls she usually let run wild cascading down her back were currently caged into the shape of a tight bun, and she wore a yellow faded dress with a classical cut and design. That didn't seem like anything his Champion would do with her appearance. As Hatter studied her every move and the smallest details intently to determine if the woman standing there _really_ was the girl he recalled having defeated the Jabberwocky or not, he noticed Time hadn't been particularly kind with her over the few years they had spent apart. The cruel being made grey blend with the golden – barely visible, but undeniably there – of her mane, veins to be predominant in her hands where skin fit tighter than should be expected, brown and small spots to appear and dot all her uncovered arm in seemingly random order.

Hatter couldn't help but be angry, seeing the immortal being he had a rocky relationship with mess around with others like a master puppeteer with the lives he had under his fingertips. What did he – out of _all_ the people possible – have against the woman that probably saved him from eternal boredom? Had it not been for her, there'd be no people bowing down before him, no poor men and women to freeze at a table for thirteen years. Alice was the most innocent of all that had ever touched Underlandian soil, having done nothing to him, and yet he still had the heart (or lack of) to deteriorate her. Hatter wondered how many centuries it had taken for Time to be able to do that, not just to those who deserved it – for there _were_ a few out there, he admitted – but also to the innocent? How many millennia passed until he'd sewn a blindfold to not let himself see the damage he'd caused? Noticing yet again his fists were clenching, the man focused his gaze on her again, and felt instantly calmer. Something surged behind the small smile that grazed his features, some dark emotion that he could give no name or reason to along with the all-too-known yearning.

"I don't think the rabbit hole will work this time around," a deep baritone with a thick British accent spoke softly from what seemed the looking glass. Hatter recognized it as the butterfly he had bid _fairfarren_ to three months prior, although he couldn't see him. His green eyes searched the glass and eventually found the blue fluttering of his wings by the right edge.

"I agree. We wouldn't want for her to break a bone on her descent," the queen responded, and the hat-making guard noticed she raised her arm, probably to delicately rub her chin in thought. Had she just implied Alice was too old to fall down the rabbit hole? Had she just called his eternal Champion _old?_ He snapped out of that train of thought because the queen started humming quietly to herself a traditional lullaby he had rocked to sleep to every night. The sound strangely soothed him and his annoyance. Finally, she stopped and spoke again. "Maybe we should consider the second entrance? It might be safer," she offered. He saw the butterfly stop hovering for a few moments, causing his altitude to decrease slightly, before he rose again.

"It's unstable. She could get stuck in the breach, and never get out," Absolem warned, but the queen seemed to brush it off. Hatter was about to burst in and complain – _what the bloody 'ell do ye think yer doin', yer Majesty?! I demand she be safe before yer do anythin'_ – and started moving further in when the lunch bell rung like a screech of a raven. He saw the queen tense up, and he went back into position before she thought of turning around and facing the door. His heart beat out of his chest as he pressed himself against the wall on the other side, adrenaline rushing through him and making it hard to breathe. He wheezed as quietly as he could – which wasn't quiet at all – and barely heard the queen's last words to Absolem.

"Do it."

The chess piece that was the second Personal Escort to the White Queen rounded a corner and appeared at the other end of the long hall of the castle. Hatter placed a smile on his face as best he could, and entered the room, the queen meeting his gaze standing by the desk. "Your Majesty," he bowed, and with a small flutter of her pale hand she dismissed him to his lunch break as she turned her attention towards the folders. As the man exited, he dared a glance at the looking glass and saw it looked like a regular one again, reflecting his disappointed gaze and not the lobsters "dancing". The Tower gave him a high five as he entered the room and Hatter exited – something he had started to do just a week prior but brought a small grin to his face – and the hat-maker made his way to the kitchen for fifteen minutes to be with his friends.

Once he finished descending the three flights of stairs, he opened the door and ducked. Immediately after, he heard the clatter of wood against marble, and saw a birch wood bowl land on the floor noisily leaving a trail of something green on the fabric the queen had draped over the door. Out of custom, Hatter scooped some up with one of his fingers not covered by fabric or thimble and tasted it. His tongue quickly itched and burned irritably.

"Too much pepper," he commented as he tried to brush the liquid away with his hands to no avail. Eventually, he gave up and walked further into the mostly white kitchen filled with stains and littered with both cooking materials and food on the floor. The March Hare was busy frantically cooking some sort of salad, so he didn't notice until the man dragged a chair open to sit on that he was present.

"You're late for lunch!"

"I'm very sorry, Thackery, but I had to wait until the queen dismissed me to leave," Hatter explained as he sat down, his feet yearning to do so for standing was all he had been doing for the past three hours. A tired sigh escaped him, and Mally approached. As she turned to face the guard, the Hare placed the bowl of salad on the table along with some dressing close to where she had been standing. The itching in his tongue dulled to a throbbing not long after, but the man felt like his tongue was slightly too big for his mouth. The Dormouse smiled happily, and jumped to his arm, sprawled across the table. The man's green eyes widened and grew slightly brighter, his smile a little wider.

"Hatter!"

"Mally!" He retorted with equal excitement as he leaned slightly down to face her better. He had to move his chair farther back to do so, which caused Thackery to jump in fright and drop the container of salt he had been carrying. Hatter laughed, as did Mally, and an idea came to the haberdasher just then. "Care to join me while I eat?"

The Dormouse nodded, the fact that the hat-maker was accepting company after having closed himself off a week prior making her feel greatly relieved. Remembering that day made shivers run down her spine, so she pushed it aside and into the recesses of her mind. He was here, with them, and that was all that mattered.

"Don't forget to take the salad the queen asked us to make for you today," Mally told the haberdasher as he placed her on his shoulder. She then pointed to the bowl Thackery had placed on the table earlier, and he noticed the dressing beside it was his favorite type. Following her advice, he strode over to the other side of the table, and took it, pouring a generous amount of dressing on it, and grabbing a fork from a cabinet. At the same time, the Dormouse climbed her way up the man's ethereal white clothes and placed herself comfortably on his shoulder, the remaining part of the ribbon wound around the middle of the hat which hung loosely down Hatter's back moving with every move slightly behind her.

"Fairfarren, Thackery," he called as he walked with Mally on his shoulder to start their journey out the kitchen and across various white halls. The man, mostly out of instinct, ducked again on his way out, and heard the clattering of wood meeting the marble again. Smiling, he shook his head and climbed several stairs and crossed uncounted closed and open doors.

The Dormouse started reciting as she always did the day's events, complaining of how warm and stuffy the kitchen had been feeling recently, telling Hatter the various unfortunate but entertaining events which had occurred since the morning. He pretended to listen, having been friends with the small rodent for so long he knew precisely when to nod and when to laugh so she wouldn't suspect.

It wasn't like he didn't believe her antics made an interesting story – not at all! – it was simply that he couldn't believe what he'd seen the queen do. The dark emotion swelled again and taking a deep breath he suppressed the negativity from his eyes. Eventually, the lunatic duo reached their usual spot in the fifth floor beside the North Tower, behind them a wide floor-to-ceiling window leading to a balcony. Before, the door was always open, but recently someone came before his lunch break and locked it.

"How have you been?" The question caught Hatter by surprise, not realizing Mally had grown quiet at noticing he was paying her no mind. She nibbled her cheese, and he still hadn't touched the salad since it had been gifted to him. He tried to look casual, to think of an answer which wasn't what he truly wanted to say but wasn't a lie either. The haberdasher might have been many things, but a liar had never been in the list and he was determined to keep it that way. He shrugged slowly as to not throw the rodent out, which looked comical.

"I've been better, ye know," he commented as a response, belittling the awful sensation of how he felt like he'd lost trust in himself, the vague hole that had once been filled up with light slowly turning to darkness. The Scottish accent caught him by surprise, and so he turned away and started mixing the dressing and salad with the fork, hoping that was enough to kindly let her know he wasn't much in a talkative mood that day. He hated how his voice sounded when it possessed its brogue, what that signified, and he knew he wouldn't be able to rid of it for a while, wouldn't be able to come to terms with what he had seen earlier. Thankfully, the little mouse understood, gave him his space, and took another bite of her food. A few minutes were spent like that between the two, in a peculiar and unknown silence thick and cold as fog, where both ate. Halfway through the salad and feeling an odd unpleasant sensation in his stomach Hatter believed was because of the long stretch of hours he'd passed without eating, the Queen and Tower started heading in their general direction.

Without thinking, Hatter immediately bowed before he heard a high-pitched yelp, which reminded him that Mally was – well, _had been_ – in his shoulder moments prior. Quickly, he took off his top hat and placed it in such a way that she would land there. She did so uncomfortably with a loud grunt and subsequent string of colorful Underlandish curses; when Hatter rose to a standing position seconds after and the queen was closer, he placed her gently back in his shoulder, acting as if nothing had happened before the queen, except that he was smiling while fear made blood pound harshly against his ears. Mally, reacting much differently but was feeling the same, furiously kicking her tiny foot against his collarbone which jutted out slightly from his thin frame and cursing. He placed the bowl of salad aside.

"Where's your head?" She demanded, whispering, the annoyance and terror seeping into her exasperated tone although she did her best to hide it.

"Lost it," he muttered between teeth loud enough so only she could hear with a small and mischievous grin –proud of his clever one-liner – before he faced the queen and tower.

Strangely, the queen stopped them by raising her hand as they prepared to greet her with the respect she deserved, and instead turned to meet the emerald gaze of the haberdasher.

Her dress was white as ever, pristine and ethereal, giving the woman with blanch hair and deep mahogany eyes the appearance of a spectral divine being. Her eyes usually were bright with glee but otherwise cloudy and hard to read. Now, when she turned to see him her irises flashed unclear messages as usual. What was intriguing being that he could most definitely read, for the first time since they'd made acquaintance, concern. He hated the way everyone had been looking at him like he was a scolded puppy or a grenade waiting to explode recently for it had been only a spurt of madness – rare and uncommon and restrained.

"How are you faring today, Mr. Hightopp?" she asked courtly. _The question of the hour,_ the hat-maker thought as he focused on making his voice sound as it usually did.

"Much better, thank ye," he ended up sputtering to his mild irking. He saw that she noticed, but thankfully she didn't push further on the issue. The same feeling from the looking glass came over him then, forcing him to control where his hands were so they wouldn't reach for the balcony door's handle or the lady's neck.

 _Madness._ That demon which had become increasingly harder to suppress, to control, had begun to succeed in its quest to make Hatter's life hell. He couldn't understand it, the sudden shift in it, how every small detail – from the smallest crumbs in his jacket to the biggest lies revealed – seemed to be a match which made the insanity blaze. She studied him, opening her mouth slightly before deciding not to speak, and turned to the small rodent on his shoulder. The two kept their responses short, and once the formalities were done with, she turned her gaze back to him.

"May I speak privately with you for a moment, please, Mr. Hightopp?"

He nodded his consent, and extended a palm, turning to look at Mally perched on his left shoulder. She reluctantly strode over to it, and let Hatter carry her to a nearby window's ledge which was luckily wide enough for her to stand comfortably on with no risk of falling. Once he made sure she was fine, he followed the queen who glided on the castle's floors like a skater does through the ice descending the five flights of stairs he had gone up earlier.

Curious and confused, he made no questions as they seemed to travel to no set destination. Eventually, the lady stopped at an open door separating an empty sitting room from the hall, and walked in. Hatter did the same, but Tower remained standing guard outside. He closed the door with a decided and soft click. When she faced him, her face wasn't kind and smiling but one of the commander of an army.

"The Oraculum recently foretold that a momentous instance shall occur in Marmoreal's gardens soon," she commented with a stern face. He mentally scoffed as to not do it in front of Her Majesty. _The Oraculum my foot!_

She continued: "You are my most trusted servant, having done a spectacular job as my Personal Escort since the bishop's ailment. As such, I believe it fit to relieve you of such duties and instead place you outside to patrol the gardens; any sign of something important stirring you let me know immediately. Is that understood?"

"Aye, Your Majesty," he responded, fully sure of his words. She nodded, and then knocked twice silently on the door; as such, the guard outside opened it. She made her way in her heels – based on the small sound they made on the marble floor of the castle - and left the room, so Hatter believed he had permission to do the same.

Once he had left the empty study, Tower gave him a small smile and closed the door, making his way to stand behind the queen. Knowing his new orders, the haberdasher started to walk to the gardens, his new post, making sure to grab a spear just in case whatever "momentous instance" occurred wasn't particularly positive, and walked out into the fresh outdoors for the first time in two months.

Not a single soul was outside when he arrived, basking in the warm sunshine and the gentle breeze of Marmoreal's gardens, which surprised Hatter slightly, although he had also expected it. Everyone was either too afraid or too busy to come out and unwind under the shade of the trees, except him it seemed. The solitude made him worry for that meant no distracters from a third party to keep his mind from flying off.

As he came to stand beside the door, overlooking the gardens, he wished he could pace, movement suiting best to help keep the madness at bay from taking over and making him do something senseless he would later regret, but he believed the queen wouldn't agree to that. Hatter made interesting motions with his jaw and mouth, closing and opening it and moving it to the sides in circles, for his tongue felt strangely and uncomfortably big for his mouth.

Aiming to distract himself, he thought of the first word that came to mind. _Regret._ What an interesting word, and one which began with the letter _r_.

"I've been studyin' words that begin with the letter _r_ ," he spoke to no one in particular, another method which sometimes helped to keep his mind from traveling to dark corners and memories and times which drove him over the bend.

He reclined comfortably against the outer wall of the castle, crossing his arms and intently looking at the horizon, the leaves of the trees and petals of the white roses waving in the wind.

"Regret, remorse, race, run, radish, rain…" he said as he started his list. Crickets played a ballad nearby, and the breeze which cooled him slightly blew his frizzy locks, toying around with them and curling them around its fingers. With nothing else to do as he automatically started calling out words, he tried to bring a reason behind the yellow darkness he had felt towards the queen since he had seen the looking glass and the magic qualities it possessed.

He determined at first it was anger, later annoyance, what he felt towards the White Queen then. She had seen and consoled Hatter so many times in the two years that had trickled by slowly – _'bout ye yer forgive and forget, Time_ – starting in that day upon the battlefield that she had slipped from his grasp.

Millions of instances she had been the shoulder he had cried on whenever the black hole her absence left was so overpoweringly great it threatened to suck him in, even more so she had been there with reassuring and empty words bringing him back from the abyss of insanity he was always hanging over precariously. All that time, all those blessed days he sulked and waited and lost hope to see her again and she had the means to do so hanging in the War Room. Rather than annoyed, he realized, he felt betrayed.

 _Cruelly_ betrayed.

A sigh escaped him between _reindeer_ and _rock_ as he shifted in his feet. This was even more boring than guarding the front of the castle had been, for over there at least he had friends to have small conversation with. His stomach growled unpleasantly, funnily enough for he had recently eaten Thackery's salad, which brought Hatter back to the current situation. Soon enough, he had grown tired of idly standing there, so he devised a route through the gardens. First, he'd pass the patches of white roses, then the willows, then the pink-leaved trees, then cobblestone path that led him back to the beginning.

Happy with his plan, he started to amble about, _reciting_ – oh, another word that begun with the letter _r_! – the different words that came to his head as he walked his circuit. He felt slightly woozy as he walked, and the growling in his stomach turned to pain.

"Reconcile, ring, rowing, reassurance…"

Hatter passed through the willow trees. Nothing so far.

The quite unnerved him for it felt so unnatural, as it had from the very first moment it had started to become predominant in the White Rule. He had supposed – along with many other residents of the land, he believed – that the kingdom would flourish under her hand. If she couldn't bring Underland back from the ashes, from the bottom of the abyss, then who could?

"Alice," he found himself muttering as he fought a small wave of unexpected nausea. He audibly swallowed as his breathing thinned out. Of course, but he had to be patient. From what he'd seen in the looking glass, she'd be coming back any minute now. Every second that ticked by brought him closer to being able to run his covered and abused fingers through her silky curls, to smell the intriguing fragrance that followed her everywhere, to see her bright and gleaming brown irises pierce through his own. Trees he thought had pink leaves passed him by as he took a shallow breath.

"Recreational, rumma –"

That was the moment he felt he couldn't let air escape his lungs; neither could he bring in more. Clutching at his throat and barely managing to whisper _help_ at inaudible levels, he fell to the ground, disoriented and his head spinning. The sharp pain he felt in his knee after he vaguely noticed he was laying sideways brought some clarity to his head, and he turned to see a section of his white pants covered in scarlet, covered in blood.

Nausea competed with the wet lump in his throat that was spilling to his neck for worst part of the scenario the haberdasher found himself in, and the grass and dirt mixed in a colorful haze Hatter knew shouldn't have been there.

 _What is happening? What is going on? Why am I… how did... why... where?_ He thought, not being able to concentrate in one concept for too long. After what seemed forever and just one second at the same time passed, the world tilted over as it started fading out, and Hatter lastly felt some solid and hard object hit him somewhere in the general area of his head.


	7. A Vibrant City and a Chance Encounter

**DISCLAIMER:** Chapter One: _The Ascot Manor and its Dreaded Party_ includes it. Every word still stands and applies to the story, nonetheless.

 **NOTES:** Hello again! Let us hope I can keep this pace XD Anyway, alternating POVs between Alice and George Jr again. Just a sweet chapter to further establish him and his relationship to her. Next chapter's up in a few days. Read, review, and enjoy!

* * *

 _ **Chapter 6: A Vibrant City and a Chance Encounter**_

Alice's room was surprisingly bright when she opened her eyes slowly, awakening calmly. She raised herself to a sitting position on the bed, her pillow against her back, and looked about. Had she not woken up in a cold sweat during the night? Had she really _slept?_ "How curious," she whispered with a small smile as she stood up, moved the covers of the bed to make it look neater, and went towards the vanity by the desk. She reached for a brush, and started combing her gold locks passively, examining her room with the clarity brought by sunlight. It was relatively small, with a twin-sided bed in the middle, a writing desk to the right side by a window, a vanity to the left, and a door on the cream wall opposite to the bed. Her covers were light blue, the writing desk was ebony, the vanity was pearl, and a white door to the bathroom was a few steps from where she now stood, closed.

As she started parting her hair in three to arrange it in a braid, she heard the door leading entrance to her room creak softly behind her only because she wasn't making much noise - otherwise, she wouldn't have noticed. The sea captain looked in the mirror's reflection, as to not turn around and surprise whoever it was coming in and saw a young girl - about twelve if the youngest Kingsleigh had to guess - walk in, facing the floor. She seemed to be trying her hardest to be invisible, which made Alice curious as to why. The girl, dressed in a light grey dress and apron like what she liked to wear as a toddler, carried a very colorful set of clothes, which she supposed were the change the Ambassador had ordered be brought forth to her. Alice turned around to not be met by the child's gaze; rather, she dutifully placed the clothes at the edge of the bed still facing downwards and started making her way out of there.

"Um, excuse me, miss?" Alice started, continuing to fix her braid as she walked over to her. At the sound of her voice, the child tensed up and turned to look at her fearfully. The captain laughed lightheartedly, to make her feel better, and approached her. The girl backed away the number of steps the youngest Kingsleigh had moved closer. Noticing the twelve-year old's apprehension, she remained standing the distance she seemed to be comfortable in. "What is your name?"

The child emitted a tiny sigh with a smile, her thin raven hair framing her face gently, and pointed to herself. "Lu - cy… Song," she enunciated with some trouble for it was a foreign tongue. Alice thought the girl's accent made the words sound like a melody.

"What a beautiful name," the sea captain complimented, and the little girl smiled. "Well," the twenty-three-year-old started, pointing to herself as she had, "I am Alice. Nice to meet you, Lucy." Lucy nodded and bowed, so the youngest Kingsleigh curtsied. Both laughed until a sound from the hall that sounded like a shout made the girl stand on edge. Quietly, she left before Alice could do or say anything else.

Still in a stupor from the sudden change in atmosphere, she looked at the half-open door for a few seconds before she shook her head and came back to her senses. Then, remembering she still was in her blue dressing gown, she went towards the bed and unfolded the clothes as to have a good gander at them after finishing her braid. A sigh of wonderment escaped her.

They were extremely colorful and exotic, which she liked, and a combination of shirt and breeches which made it all the better. The trousers given to her were ebony and not particularly spectacular, stopping at about a third from her ankle and hanging loosely. Her shirt, though, made up for the lack of glamor in the bottom half of the outfit. When Alice raised it to see what it might look like on her once she put it on, she noticed it reached to about her knees, formed to look like a dress, showing only in result a small section of the breeches. It was a deep scarlet hue, with undertones of white on certain parts of the shirt to give it form, and that the sleeves were meant to fit very loosely and to hang below her when she raised her arms.

She went to the mostly white bathroom with warm water and bathtub and changed into the soft cotton outfit, stopping at a mirror to tidy it up, before heading down the hall and stairs for breakfast with the Ambassador and her First Mate. She was met by the sight of both dressed in dark grey English suits, sitting each with forks and beef in their plates, having begun breakfast without her. Strangely, she had been hoping they would be wearing more folkloric clothes as she was doing, and as such was slightly disappointed, but brushed it off when she cleared her throat to make her presence known.

"Alice!" George said with a smile wide as a certain cat's upon meeting her gaze, and Mr. Orwell simply nodded while he kept chewing his food. She grinned pleasantly and sat where she had the night prior, feeling the curious new energy a good night's sleep had provided making her swing her legs below the table. Upon looking at her covered plate to keep the food warm, she noticed her blue porcelain cup had been set up instead of the ones on the rest of the table. Although empty for it wasn't tea time yet, it made her glad seeing it there, gleaming atop the white cloth.

"Good morning George, Ambassador Orwell," she said after a fragment of a minute with a nod directed at each man as she placed the kerchief on her lap and reached for a slice of bread. A maid came and lifted the covering, revealing a piece of beef. She smiled at the maid to make her gratitude known. "I hope you had a pleasant night?"

"Yes, I did, Captain. Thank you for asking; did you?" Orwell asked politely without lifting his gaze from the beef, and George simply nodded half-heartedly as he took a sip from his ale. Alice nodded, cutting her meat, wanting to ask George what he meant by his silence but waiting for the right time to do so.

"Impressively so," she told Mr. Orwell, and took a bite of her food. It was decadent, the beef filled with juice and flavor. "I've probably never had a better night's sleep anywhere, and the outfit selected for me to wear this morning is absolutely delightful. I was just wondering, out of curiosity of course, why I am the only one wearing folkloric clothes," she commented slyly and casually as the three of them continued to eat, George barely touching his meal since Alice had arrived.

"Well, Captain, your First Mate told me you were very interested in foreign fabrics and that is why you find yourself so attracted to travel, uncommon for someone of your -" he stopped, finding the proper euphemism. "Kind." He seemed so aloof about the subject, Alice found it sickening, but she waved it aside. She faced her first mate, smiling at him, then a more solemn look was directed at the British Ambassador.

"Well, Mr. Phelps is quite right. It is such a delight to really _live_ the culture of the city I'll be staying in for the next few weeks," she said calmly amongst the men. She looked about the wide and almost unoccupied table, coming to an uncanny realization that the scene proved itself strangely familiar. When was the last time she sat with two men in a mostly empty tea table? _Goodness!_ Of course she felt like she'd been in a similar situation before. But then, her company had been a lot madder and a lot more pleasurable.

Her words, she guessed, caused the men to think about their choices (something most their _kind_ despised, of course), and as such the conversation withered away like a rose with not enough water to leave the dried petals of suffocating silence. This vacuum was filled only with the clanking of silverware against silverware when cutting meat, and glasses constantly being taken from and being set back on the table. What the sea captain would do to escape this situation she found herself in suddenly. She wasn't sure she'd be able to stand a whole day of being trapped in the Embassy. As she thought, an idea came to mind. _It is such a delight to really live the culture of the city I'll be staying in for the next few weeks…._

"Ambassador Orwell?" she asked as she raised her gaze, meeting his eyes after just placing down again his ale. "Is there any chance that I could spend the day getting acclimated to the city of Peking?"

He looked ready to spit out the drink in his mouth, but refrained because of what Alice guessed were his manners. He looked her over, studying her. "Why in Heaven's name would you wish to do that? It's a very dangerous city in certain areas… I wouldn't advise traveling alone."

"Well, sir, I wish to do that because, again, I want to really live the Chinese culture while I've been given the chance, and since I'll have to go on several excursions over the extent of my stay, I believe it beneficial to get to know it beforehand. And about traveling alone," Alice turned to George. "If he is fine with such arrangements, I see it fit that the Captain of _The Wonder_ is accompanied by her First Mate."

It was almost laughable how quickly George shook his head. She had barely even finished the sentence before he started blabbering on about how a wonderful opportunity it'd be for the both of them to meet the city, and the people, and all those other intriguing and fascinating things that passed through one of her ears and left by the other. Her focus was no longer on the conversation at hand, but out the window, in the gardens, where she spotted a figure - moving too fast for her to see any features except raven hair - running out the premises. Before the sea captain had a chance to bring that matter to the Ambassador's attention, he rose and excused himself, giving the two visitors the green light to go on a little adventure through the city and erasing that sight from her head. In a matter of minutes, the trio had been reduced to a duo on the dining room. George turned to her, his brown eyes bright with a sense of anticipation, and he rose from his seat. Alice prepared to do the same, before he gently pulled her chair out so she could rise.

"Such chivalry," she joked with a smile as she stood up, folded the napkin and placed it on the table beside her plate, and spotted maids dressed similarly to Lucy (she now noticed) starting to pick up after them as quietly as they could. George laughed, and pushed the chair back in, completely ignoring the women.

"Well, I am gentleman, and you are a lady."

The sea captain gaped in pretend outrage. "How dare you make such a claim about me?" she asked with a wide grin.

George chuckled again, face flushed although Alice didn't notice this fact. He took a few steps towards the stairs, turning to face his captain. "Come, since you're so interested in 'living the culture' let's get ready to meet Peking. Day's not going to last forever."

With that said, he started going up the stairs without her, and Alice was soon alone with the three maids. When she reached to grab a plate, one of them laid a gentle hand on it and nodded with a small smile, indicating that she would take care of it. She then moved her head towards the stairs. Understanding what she meant, Alice backed away from the table, and ambled towards the stairs. On the highest step, she turned back and saw the table nearly cleared, and one of them - about her age, and the one who had encouraged her to leave for her adventure - sweeping. She hoped she could help, or at least do something to show her appreciation. An idea came to her, so she descended once again in a hurry, George's door closed indicating he was in there probably putting on shoes instead of slippers.

"Xièxiè," Alice said, looking at the girls who turned to face her with small smiles. The sea captain tried not to think about the fact that might've been the first _thank you_ they had ever received from a guest. With that, since they remained silent, she made her way to the stairs, stopping at the sound of a female voice.

"Kequi, Alice," the maiden who seemed to be the more talkative of the three told her in a warning - bordering on scolding - tone, which made the sea captain turn to face her to see what she meant by her words. The phrase was one she didn't understand, and thankfully the Chinese woman noticed that. "Nice bad. We below guest. Xièxiè to us be… mad," she said in broken English and worried tone, honestly concerned, but Alice simply smiled mischievously.

"Great thing that I'm rather mad, then."

* * *

The city seemed to be only three things in George's completely unbiased opinion: smelly, loud, and crowded. Just like the day before, several hundreds of people were out on the streets, either on the markets or hurriedly pushing their way down the streets. Alice and George felt terribly lost among the crowds almost immediately after exiting the Embassy, so the First Mate of _The Wonder_ proposed returning inside and saying they had had enough with Chinese culture just standing in the streets for a moment, or some other pretense. The sea captain shook her head in denial to his idea.

"No, my pride won't allow it," she said in a pensive tone, looking out towards the crowd and spotting a clear spot farther ahead. George took a gander and decided it looked to be a park of sorts. At least it was empty.

"Alice…" he audibly complained in what he tried to not make a whiny tone, but she quickly raised an index finger to quiet him.

"Captain," she said excitedly - eyes bright with an idea - turning with a smile and taking his hand before starting to run into the crowds and aiming to reach the place which seemed relatively empty. At a moderately slow pace at first but gradually quickening, they made their way through the crowds and Alice forever held the lead against him. He followed as best he could, albeit clumsily, much behind her and held to her hand with an iron grip. It was a weird circumstance for the first time they had held hands, but George, although too bashful to admit he loved the feeling, appreciated the opportunity even so. The crowds were resilient in their resolve to head wherever it was they were going, and even more resolute in the idea that they needed to get to their destination the most; thus, everyone was pushing their way in a pattern the sea captain's right hand man admired, for it was almost like it was choreographed. George, being the one behind, saw they were being followed by a tall figure shrouded in shadow, so he tried to warn Alice. The thing was, the distance was very great, and the noise very loud, so his screams went unnoticed. Circumstances escalated from bad to worse when the shadow started pushing the first mate blindly towards what he later realized was a wall. Alice - satchel tightly held - turned around and noticed just in the nick of time, stopping feet from the wall; her inertia, however, made her First Mate spiral as he held tightly to her hand and hit a door face-first.

"George!" Alice shouted in surprise, and started laughing as he carefully moved away and rubbed his nose with a wounded look. She laughed, and went towards him and the door leisurely. He grinned sheepishly as she rubbed his nose gently making shushing sounds, and later moving it around expertly. George raised an eyebrow at the latter. "I need to make sure you didn't break it," she explained with a grin as she continued and soon ended, both of them close enough to share the same breaths. The tips of each respective nose touched, and Alice's wide and surprised irises rose to stare at his caramel ones. He wanted to lean in. He desperately wanted to, had wanted to since he had first made acquaintance of the woman when she was nineteen and had refused a stable life to pursue her dreams. Yet, he didn't dare. As such, they remained in that position for what seemed a lifetime, both unsure of what to do next. What he later realized was just a second after, Alice cleared her throat and backed away quickly, patting his shoulders with an awkward grin. She opened the door - which he avoided with three fast jumps back which resembled a step of the quadrille - and he only saw her grip on the satchel tighten with what he thought was fright until he remembered who she was.

"Oh, God," he managed to hear her whisper as he walked in beside her, and stood as petrified as she upon noticing that the store was brimming with the one thing it sold: hats. Almost a million hair accessories lined the walls and stands, with almost as many varied designs for each. Exotic and brightly-colored fabrics of all sorts made their curious and elegant forms, appealing to the appreciative eye - which, in this case, was not George's. He couldn't help but compare them to fingerprints, all unique but all strangely the same, although they were too bold for his taste. Alice, on the other hand, seemed to be thinking deeply about them, for she was staring at them with wonder and a whisper of a smile on her face in a trance. After a small and sharp intake of air, she let out a small chuckle and strolled quickly to what seemed vaguely a top hat, and she took out of her satchel a blank book and a pencil. The First Mate raised an eyebrow and looked about the store, finally moving again, as he sauntered to her. Shouldn't someone say "good day" right about now?

"A - are you _sketching?_ " he asked, confused and surprised, as he came to stand beside her. Mostly because of his privileged position, he saw she already had a rudimentary but very accurate drawing of the shape and had started adding the details of the geometric fabric. She stopped upon hearing his voice, and she turned with eyes with almost showed fear before they heard some ruffling. Both turned and were met by a friendly-looking man whom they guessed ran the haberdashery shop. Alice, ignoring George's question, grabbed the hat gently off the shelf and went to the man. The First Mate of _The Wonder_ followed, but stopped and subsequently receded to pretend to stare at some of the bonnets, trying to buy himself some time to think. What on earth could be wrong with Alice right now? Since he hit his nose, she had been acting very strange. And why would she be sketching the hat?

For a while, the pattern resumed of the sea captain finding several hair accessories that caught her eye, sketching them in a book he had never seen before, and taking them to say something about them to the owner of the store. George, meanwhile, rubbed his throbbing nose and waited for the right time to ask Alice all the questions slowly mounting on his mind. Having known her for the past two years, he knew very well that sometimes she fell into these… trances, of sorts. Episodes where she would obsess over something, and one just had to go along with it. Once Alice Kingsleigh set her mind to something, such as sketching all the hats of a store, there was no way to stop her, so George let the excitement over the hats fade. Staring out the windows, he noticed with slight disdain the novelty of the Chinese hair accessories was taking much longer to end than he expected. Eventually, she seemed to be content and she waved the man goodbye, walking towards George as she stuffed the pencil and book within the satchel and opening the door without waiting for him to do so.

"Please let me he - "

"I can open my own doors, Phelps, thank you."

Deciding to just let her be, George diligently followed behind her in the much more empty Peking streets, giving her some space to breathe. They walked silently, for Alice seemed to have too much on her mind to vocalize it, as they slowly approached the Embassy. On any other situation and with any other woman, the man would have no trouble making conversation and would not have done what he did next, but he was with the eternally curious Alice Kingsleigh - whose inquisitiveness was very contagious. Without thinking, he reached into the bag and took out the sketchbook to receive a worried and terrified yell as she reached rather desperately to recuperate it.

"GEORGE! GIVE THAT BACK! NO _WAIT_ -!"

To her disdain, he was taller than her and held the book above her as he flipped it open randomly to one of the top hats of the store, on which he saw lines and notes scribbled around it, mostly what seemed measurements. Why would she want measurements? He flipped a few more backwards as Alice continued to reach for the book. Top Hat. Bonnet. Sunbonnet. Ascot Hat. A _person_?

Just as the man opened to a page showing what he saw for just a blink as a man, the sea captain succeeded in closing and yanking the book off his hand as she blushed harshly - he guessed it was the exertion. She looked furious and with a gaze of disbelief at him, placing the book back in the satchel, and then closing the switches. "GEORGE! What were you thinking?!"

"I'm - I'm sorry. I was worried because I didn't know what was in there. Why do you have drawings of hats with their measurements and materials in there?"

She bit her lip, taking a deep breath and calming down. Then, she looked at him trying not to scowl. "Let me remind you, Phelps, that we are part of an imports company. We look for things to sell, and these hats seemed to have great marketing potential to me -"

"How come? There are a million hatters in England," he interrupted, and she brought her index finger into the air to stop him.

" _And ..._ let me remind you that I am your _captain_. I deserve more respect from you, First Mate."

With that, she turned her back and continued walking, muttering something under her breath as she stormed slowly to the white building, the day's weight finally seeming to fall on her shoulders. He followed, saddened and worried. Alice usually told him everything, so whatever she was hiding was incredibly personal, embarrassing, or both. And, even more concerning, she was angry at him; George feared she would never trust him again, and that the previous events of the day where they had touched noses in front of the haberdashery shop would be the closest he'd be to her again. "God, what have I done?" he asked aloud to no one in a harsh whisper as he followed her periwinkle silhouette outlined in the bright sunlight. Looking at his pocketwatch, he saw the hour as five in the afternoon - tea time. That should set her in a cheerier mood, for she did love utilizing the cup she had bought the day before and drinking the warm and herbal liquid with biscuits. George was depending on that. George would know if something truly was wrong only until tea time. If she refused, then he had all the reason to worry.

* * *

Both crew members of _The Wonder_ shuffled their feet tiredly to enter the ostentatious British Embassy after a whole day of sightseeing. Alice was weighed down not only by aching feet, but aching heart, and she knew the only way to relieve the pain would be to face the challenge she had avoided dealing with the night earlier in the garden. She sighed, her First Mate beside her, as they were met by the Ambassador in a thin robe, opened slightly to show he was already ready for bed. "So, Captain, did you enjoy the culture?"

"Very much so, Ambassador, albeit I am exhausted from all the walking I've done today," she said courtly and suppressing a scowl, controlling the urge to lash at him for his obnoxiousness and sarcastic tone. That was no way to talk to a captain, a lady, and much less both. "I'll be retiring to my quarters now, if no one minds me doing so… I've been put off my tea."

Neither man objected - although her First Mate did look incredibly worried - so she took it as permission and went up the stairs. Crossing the small amount of hall between, she reached her door and entered her room. Turning to close it, she stopped, looking at the door knob. For a moment, she expected it to speak for she recalled once meeting a talkative one with similar shape, but it didn't do any wondrous thing. What she did notice, though, was the fact she could lock it from inside. She wrinkled her nose as she debated whether to do it, until she reached a decision and she heard the small click. With that, she turned to face the writing desk and the nearly blank sheet of parchment there. Her beginning phrase was still smeared boldly on the top of the page:

 _My dearest and maddest Hatter._

The sea captain moved back and sat on the chair facing the window and writing desk, a hand instinctively reaching to brush her curls in thought. What could she possibly write? She had much too many things to say and such little amount of words to say it in. And where would she begin? She pondered and tried to form a concrete and concise letter for the man, but her head just went in circles and overcomplicated the whole matter. Soon, having nothing written, the stark whiteness gave way to bitter frustration which she contained within instead of lashing out physically at something in the room. This worsened the feeling and made Alice really wish for an object to punch if nothing else. Looking about for a pillow to scream into, she stopped and looked at the letter again, a small smile gracing her lips as her mind reached an enlightening eureka. Alice took a feather, dipped it in ink already set on the desk, and let it hover for just a moment. Then, she set it down decidedly with no idea what she'd write - which was exactly what she wanted. For this type of letter, she would have to lay her emotions bare, and like when she painted if she thought she hid. So, she let her hand scribble what came to her head gently. Slowly, but effortlessly, her message started to appear.

Alice couldn't honestly tell how many hours had transgressed while she continuously wrote the several pages that encompassed her letter to the Hatter uninterrupted, for she felt something overcome her and she entered a sort of trance where she saw the pen move but didn't recall telling it to do so or thinking what she was writing. What felt like one second and an eternity simultaneously passed until she ended with a bittersweet note and a signature the message, and the sea captain found herself consciously setting the pen down on the ink bottle in front of her. The sun was setting outside, and her room was starting to darken, her forehead throbbed, and her eyes felt swollen and moist for reasons she wasn't fully conscious of, but she waved all thoughts aside with a yawn as Alice felt her eyes start to close and her head droop against her wishes and will. _No, I can't sleep I need to put the letter on the enve_ \- she thought seconds before her head fell gently on her softness of her arms and sunk into them with a sense of finality.


End file.
